—The anchor chain has just run out. He had picked up a man who was cruising South in a rowboat. There is a continuous gurgling swish and the moon catches the bow wave whitely. We frantically telegraphed Mr. Lnot to come, that we would work north gradually by ourselves. It becomes increasingly rough as we near the Gulf Stream.
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Even now this expedition has its elements of humor, and, for the discomforts, some marvelous compensating moments. He asked me where we had found our steward-sailor, and I had to explain that he was the carpenter's son, that he had never cooked or been on a sailboat before, but that we had engaged him because he was so nice. It was not a success, for he caught a frozen expression on my face. Feeling giddy once or twice, I quickly stuck my head out of the galley hatch. Stephen came on deck with a dish of apricots and we joked at our plight. Cry of perfection from a carpenter crossword solver. While out at sea among big waves I constantly thought of the accuracy of Rockwell Kent's pictures. The Southern coast — unending stretches of sand, no harbors except where occasionally a channel has been dredged through a sand bar, no tree or rock or hill or tuftof green grass to break the monotony—that is my idea of an uninviting and forbidding shore line. Stephen's Uncle Ott, whom he had not seen in six years, turned up this afternoon. With every sail on the boat drawing, she is running as dead before the wind as she can go, precariously near the jibing point. This afternoon, coming back from Meeting Street, I stopped over by the Astra.
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The Merriconeag is almost abeam. They ask us where we are going and I am tired of explaining that we are not going anywhere until we feel like it; that we like boats and this one happens to be our home; that, besides, my husband has a certain amount of work to do, as he is having his fourth one-man show in February. 45 — a light southwest breeze which seemed to be strengthening in puffs. They were adrift nineteen days. Cry of perfection from a carpenter crossword puzzle. November 3, AT CAPE MAY The stepson of the owner of the wharf at which we are tied up came to dinner. Stephen, oblivious, went right on working. 00 midnight, still hove to. They even watch us eating in the cabin when the skylight is open.
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I am settled in the cabin. We gather speed and are soon making about eight knots. A pathetic number know practically nothing about sailing except what they have read about it in books. Circumstances appear at their worst at night. I have some corn bread in the oven, but the day is so calm I doubt, if it will be a success — the heat of the oven has some mysterious relation to the direction and velocity of the wind. The pump apparently will not work. In the dusk we anchored on a shallow place half a mile from Gravesend between three barges and a big full-rigged ship. In the middle of the night I sat up with a start. We are having rum flips on deck. With three ships in sight, we lit the masthead light despite the fact that the Delco must be running low. Cry of perfection from a carpenter crossword quiz answer. Stephen is very discouraged. There were boats passing in all directions, tiny little tugs manœuvring great rafts of railroad cars.
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I came up again much refreshed at eight o'clock. Fishing boats, long strings of them, passed us going out. 30 P. — The lead has shown ten fathoms, now it shows eight. I marveled that there were not constant collisions. 10 A. and everyone went to bed. The water is indigo blue, with bits of Gulf weed floating by. A disreputable little yawl called the Astra — two men and a woman aboard — is anchored next to us. I know this is an exaggerated example, but in New York we saw a play, Tobacco Road. 'Lady, ' he said, 'dear Missis, I beg of you — it is most dangerous to bathe before forty-eight hours. We had been sailing since five o'clock in the morning, arriving off Atlantic City about 10. Last night we ran aground off Atlantic City. It was strange, stumbling on deck from a sound sleep, to see the other boat looming so close.
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Improve accommodate. — Stephen and I on watch. I have been thinking of all our early struggles with the various mechanical parts of the boat and of how, as Stephen said, they really made us love her more. I became exhausted by taking the wheel from 11. till 2. — We passed long stretches of sand near the entrance, but lately the channel is rather winding, with trees on either side. Going below, I sat down for a minute and immediately fell asleep.
Great Chebeague, Brown Cow, Bates, Ministerial. Stephen and I took the 8. Liver, nuts, and raisins are apt to disagree. I saw the white steeple of Saint Michael's, the red steeple of the new church, the steeple of Saint Philip's — thin spires against the tranquil blue sky. Ellison experiences it, for this morning when he rowed me ashore he said, 'I always go all the way round the boat after I have been working on her to see how much better she looks. '